5 Times John Watson Saw Irene Adler Naked
by CatsOnMars
Summary: The actual long title: 5 Times John Watson Quite Unintentionally Saw Irene Adler Naked & One Time It Wasn't So Unintentional. Pre-movie fic telling of Watson's frustration with Holmes's potentially compromising affair with Irene. Watson/Irene/Holmes.
1. Part 1 of 6

**Notes:** Written for the SH kink meme on LiveJournal in response to this prompt: "Watson/Irene/Holmes. Pre-movie. 5 times Watson has accidentally seen Irene Adler (at least partially) naked. (Suppose she and Holmes didn't always have 'their old hotel room' and it was quite a relief to Watson when they finally started taking their business elsewhere after there were several incidents...especially because Irene didn't seem to mind starting to get to know_ both_ of them pretty well the more she was around, but he's sure living together shouldn't mean sharing _everything_...)"

For the sake of this fic I'm ignoring the fact that there's obviously no bedroom _directly_ connected to Holmes and Watson's sitting room, at least not in movieverse...because I fail. Haha. And Holmes and Watson share said bedroom, which is ridiculously not canon and more of a silly reference to how Robert Downey Jr. said they do in some interview, leading to some crazy fan rumors that there are actually deleted scenes showing this. LOL, fans.

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**five times john watson quite unintentionally saw irene adler naked  
(and one time it wasn't so unintentional)**

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**I.**

Returning from an errand in the early afternoon, Watson thinks he hears someone moving quickly about inside the chamber after he comes up the stairs to the door. But when he goes inside, he is immediately exasperated to find Holmes barely dressed and still in the chair where he passed out to sleep the night before as if he hasn't moved since, lounging in the dark with all the curtains drawn closed.

"Have you forgotten that you did commit to work on a new case two days ago?" Watson asks wearily as he starts to take off his coat and gloves. "You may be far too brilliant for such lower creatures as myself to be able to follow your methods, but I'm still quite sure it's impossible for you to reach any conclusions by sleeping on it many extra hours into the day."

"Watson..." Holmes speaks up only to start to protest as he starts whipping the curtains open, spilling bright light into the room.

"And Mrs. Hudson just mentioned something to me about_ another_ client we supposedly met with yesterday? Holmes, please tell me you didn't take another case before you've barely begun the other."

"Yes, about that..." Holmes's words start to sound a little urgent. "Perhaps I'd better explain—_Wats_—"

His speech cuts off when Watson yanks back the next curtain, bringing out a short yell. The strong contralto voice comes from a young woman who was formerly hiding just to the side of the window behind the curtain. She has rich curls of brown hair falling loose around her shoulders and a striking face, the likeness of which Watson easily recognizes after regularly seeing it in the photograph Holmes has peculiarly cherished ever since his unforgettable first encounter with her, which is at the moment frozen in a startled but also vaguely amused expression.

She is also completely naked from head to toe.

As Irene Adler immediately grabs the curtains to cover them back around herself just from the neck down, Watson spins back around with a somewhat shell-shocked look, as if he is too taken aback and embarrassed at the same time to form an adequate reaction right away.

Irene, however, recovers from the mishap rather quickly, and Watson hears her say comfortably, "Pardon me, doctor. Allow me to get out of your way..." Then she casually moves around the room to gather her clothes as he stays rigidly still with his back to her, meanwhile facing Holmes and fixing him with an aggressively annoyed stare that does not waver the entire time she gets ready to leave. Holmes just stays where he is relaxing in the chair, nonchalantly tapping his pipe on his knee while occasionally watching Irene out of the corner of his eye, with a look in which Watson can see wariness and captivation somehow remarkably intertwined.

Before she leaves, she turns to Watson with the most shameless and relaxed smile, as if the untoward way they first acknowledged each other moments ago didn't happen at all. Extending her hand, she says, "It's lovely to finally properly meet Holmes's colleague I've heard so much about."

He takes a moment to react and grasp her hand lightly and briefly, neither shaking it or kissing it in his slight disorientation, and manages only to awkwardly say, "Pleasure."

As soon as she is out the door, Watson opens his mouth for the impending outburst but is immediately silenced by Holmes holding a hand up and hissing, "_Shhh!_"

They both stay still and silent a moment, Watson looking perplexed and impatient and Holmes leaning slightly toward the door as he seems to listen intently. The departing footsteps down the stairs become momentarily arrested after the first couple steps before they resume again, getting fainter as she descends down the rest of the staircase.

"Whenever she arrives or leaves, it is always the same," Holmes observes in a tone of frustrated bewilderment, seeming to talk mostly to himself. "While coming up or going down the stairs, she always stops for a moment on the sixteenth step, or sometimes the fifteenth...What does it mean?"

Making no sense of his ramblings and not caring in the least anyway, Watson finally brings up the more pressing matter. "_That_...That woman was Irene Adler!" he says, seemingly struggling to state the ridiculousness out loud as he gestures toward the door with an incredulous look.

"Obviously. Is there any other?"

"Or formerly Miss Adler, that is...What was she doing_ here?_ With_ you?_"

Holmes raises his brow innocently. "She's...our other new client, of course."

"Oh, I should think not! Whatever she is, she's certainly nothing of _ours_, but _your_ problem. How long do you think our landlady can remain convinced she's coming round here for business purposes? There_ is _such a thing as a reputation that those outside of your deranged world sometimes think of."

"Yes," Holmes agrees, looking almost like he is taking the words seriously. "Which is precisely why it's quite out of the question for us to meet at her current place of residence, where we can't say we are meeting for business purposes at all."

"She...has a place of residence? In London?"

"Oh yes. She has returned here to stay indefinitely."

Watson shakes his head, overwhelmed. "Is she not somewhat recently married, Holmes? I'd think you needn't be reminded, as you were actually_present_ at the wedding disguised as a beggar, if I do remember and have it _documented _correctly."

"Indeed, she is recently married. Recently divorced, too."

He lets out a heavy sigh. "And with the kind of deviousness you know her to be capable of, you really think this is a good idea? You think you can_trust_ her?"

"Of course not," Holmes answers calmly, rising from his chair and starting to idly pace around the room. "But generally, one can trust any person below their own level of intelligence, even if it's a person with feeble and poorly executed intentions to be untrustworthy. I'm sure you can't begin to understand the pleasure someone like me finds in for once having the company of someone I know perfectly well I cannot trust."

With his last words, his eyes linger briefly on her picture where it sits a few feet away from him on the table. Watson can only shake his head again, giving up.


	2. Part 2 of 6

**II.**

It is a couple days later when Watson comes home to see no sign of Holmes there, and immediately after entering hears a female voice calling.

"I believe you've made your point, darling, whatever this is about! Now can't you let me free so I can hurry and do several unspeakable things to you before your poor friend unknowingly joins us again?"

Getting a little afraid of what he might find, Watson follows the sound of the voice back to the bedroom. After stepping inside, he immediately stops at the sight before him, rolling his eyes up at the ceiling.

Miss Adler lies across the bed blindfolded and only meagerly covered in entirely black undergarments, an alluring ensemble of dark stockings and a satin corset and lacy bloomers evidently being enjoyed by no one while she is left bound there with each wrist tied to a bed post.

He comes around to one side of the bed and her head turns toward him as she hears him approach. With her dark wine-red lips curling in a sly smirk and her fingers curling in as if in frustration of not being able to touch, she lifts one leg up to reach him with the tip of her pointed foot, tracing it enticingly down the middle of his waist and then down _farther_...

Clearing his throat loudly, he grabs her foot before it lowers too far and sets it back down, and then leans over her to lift the blindfold from her face.

Sharpening to the sight of him standing over her, Irene's eyes go slightly large with surprise, and then she just grins and says pleasantly, "Oh. Hello, doctor. I might have guessed..."

Looking at one of her wrists where it is securely tied, he raises an eyebrow and then says, "Despite your less than decent attire which I'm persistently subjecting myself to the longer I stand here, I suppose the most gentlemanly thing to do in this situation is a bit obvious..."

Smiling more, she says, "Yes, it would be very kind of you..."

He smirks just vaguely as he starts to untie one of her hands. Once she is free, he leaves her to collect her clothes from where they are scattered in various places across the floor. When he goes back out of the room, he immediately sinks into a chair where he closes his eyes with a distressed sigh and leans over, rubbing at one of his temples as if suddenly getting a headache.

Then the door opens, admitting Mrs. Hudson with the afternoon tea. Watson springs quickly out of the chair and goes to her.

"Ah—Thank you so very much, I'll just take this if you please," he says as he grabs hold of the tray, an edge of nervousness unavoidably showing in his voice. "That'll be all, it isn't the best time, I'm afraid—"

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," comes Irene's bright voice as she suddenly emerges from the other room, already completely dressed. Watson turns his face to look at her with some slight horror.

"Good day, Miss Adler," Mrs. Hudson responds naturally, forcing the tray back away from Watson, who is so distracted by his shock that he easily relinquishes it.

As she passes him to set the tray down in the center of the sitting area, he says airily, "You...are familiar with...?"

"Of course," Mrs. Hudson says, picking up the pot to pour the tea. "I've met your new client several times now. I'm not such an old woman that my memory is useless to me, doctor." Then she says directly to Irene with a gracious smile, "I made it especially strong, miss, the way you mentioned you prefer it."

Only then does Watson notice there are three tea cups on the tray she brought, and he is quite sure if he were only a marginally less self-possessed man he would be fainting right this moment.

"Thank you, how kind!" Irene says, with a remarkably natural air of sweetness and civilized manners not at all belonging to the kind of woman who earlier this day was willingly tied to a bed by her lover. It is jarring—and also somewhat fascinating, he has to admit—to see.

After Mrs. Hudson leaves, he and Irene look at each other for a silent moment.

"Well, let's not wait for him," she says with a slightly vexed sigh, casually sitting down and taking a cup. "I'm sure it'll only lead to us drinking cold tea."

"Do I even want to know the meaning of this?" he asks, resigning himself to the insanity and sitting down across from her. "I don't suppose you have any guess where he's gone off to."

"No idea," she answers. "Obviously he means to punish me just in case I've done something to deserve it, so I wouldn't expect him to be back for a while."

Watson makes as much sense of that as he can and then just sips at his tea in silence.

"I must say...you must be an honorable man, doctor," she then says with a small, thoughtful smile.

"Why do you say that?" he asks.

"Many others, if they found an undressed and blindfolded woman tied to an abandoned bed, would have taken advantage of the situation."

He swallows his next drink of tea rather loudly, his brow creasing for a second, but then just says with a dull tone as he looks back up at her, "Did I wound your vanity by failing to be tempted?"

"Not severely...Well, let us say either you're an honorable man or simply an honorable friend, anyway."

He cocks an eyebrow as if he finds something a little humorous about the suggestion. "Believe me, there is nothing honorable in being a friend of Sherlock Holmes," he says dryly.

"Nor in sleeping with him?"

He looks caught off guard only for an instant. "I wouldn't presume to know."

She gives a deep, throaty laugh. "But that isn't really what you think at all, is it?" she asks, leaning forward and looking at him piercingly.

Watson's expression remains stoic. "Surely it is none of my business."

"Oh, come now, Watson. No matter how much you may complain about working with and living with him, you clearly have more fondness and admiration for him than you ever say, or perhaps even can. It's fairly easy to see, you know."

His eyes start to look at her sharply, narrowing just a little. "I'm sure any misleading words of mine regarding the level of affection I have for my colleague are considerably less damaging than...empty expressions of devotion."

"And _there _it is," she says lightly, not at all unsettled by his implication. "You think I am in some way misleading him, don't you? You say it's none of your business, but nevertheless you don't trust me."

"Fine," he says easily, giving a shrug. "As long as you insist I admit it, I _don't_ trust you with him."

"Lovely. Now that we have that out of the way, we can get along and have tea in peace, you see?"

"I...don't think I do."

"Holmes doesn't entirely trust me either, and he knows I know this. It makes everything much simpler that we're open about it rather than bothering with any pretense."

Watson just looks a little doubtful. Then he says, "As I said, it _should_ be none of my business. Or at least I would like it not to be."

Irene's look is a little apologetic as she understands his meaning. "Yes, it's regrettable we have nowhere more private to go...But what is some inconvenience between friends? Don't _you_ ever bring women here?"

He lets out a short laugh at the idea. "No. Not once."

"Why not?" she asks with a slightly teasing expression. "Afraid Holmes will steal them away if you let him near them?"

"Because there have been no women, and if there ever is one that will hopefully be my_ escape_ from here." The words are already out before he realizes, just fleetingly, that he has no idea how she has gotten him thinking this is any of _her_ business, though he can't seem to stop talking as if he feels like he is on the defensive. "As for whether I should ever worry that he's the not-so-honorable kind of friend who would steal someone from me...Well, if it even matters, I suppose it's difficult to determine for certain because we've never exactly been drawn to the same woman..._ever_," he adds for good measure, seeming to find it more true the more he thinks about it.

Looking thoughtfully into her cup as she stirs it a moment, she says light-heartedly, "Hm. That's too bad."

In the middle of taking a drink, Watson chokes briefly as if he has gulped down too much and spills some tea on himself.


	3. Part 3 of 6

**III.**

It is dreadfully inconvenient that Mrs. Hudson should be gullible enough, if not just willing enough, to ignore the obvious when it comes to Miss Adler's repeated visits day after day. If Watson obviously can't depend on her to be properly scandalized, he has already lost one compelling reason to demand that this headache-inducing madness involving _the damn woman_, as he has come to think of her, be brought to an end.

But he keeps being given entirely new reasons. Such as when he comes home very late one night, exhausted and quite ready to get to sleep after spending most of the night out to avoid a repeat of former incidents when he intruded on Holmes and his mistress, and he goes into the bedroom expecting to find Holmes already sleeping there after seeing no lights lit in the other rooms but instead he finds _her_ asleep there.

She lies on her side over the disarrayed covers, wearing one of Holmes's shirts over not much else, her smooth and shapely legs completely visible resting slightly curled in. He is much too aware that this kind of sight is not as alarming as it should be anymore. Her uncovered figure is quickly becoming familiar even though he is not the one getting to know it in more extensive ways. He is sure for a man in these kind of circumstances with a woman he might actually be inclined to desire, that would be that man's idea of hell.

Damn it all, but it_ is_ in some ways a much more pleasant sight to unexpectedly find in place of his snoring, sometimes foul-smelling colleague with his carelessly sprawled limbs taking up more than his alloted half of the bed. She looks so harmless and gentle the way she is now, lying still in the dark with her eyes closed peacefully. Her breathing is light and quiet, brushing a smooth curl of her hair slightly away from her face with each exhale. For a brief moment, Watson feels he is able to understand just a little how Holmes can so heedlessly overlook her obvious and threatening thorns and has to remind himself as he sees her like this that there is nothing soft and delicate about this particular human being, no matter how easy she is to look at.

After taking in the sight long enough, he is once again aware of the heaviness he feels in his whole body. It makes the idea of just collapsing in bed beside her and going to sleep as if he noticed nothing out of the ordinary slightly tempting. What else is he to do? Wait for Holmes to return from wherever he is this late and take care of her? Sleep somewhere else much less comfortable as if this isn't his own room?

Or he could just wake her and tell her to leave.

Watson walks around the bed to the side where she lies and stares down at her another moment with his sluggish and tired thoughts reluctantly weighing the options. Even if the woman clearly has no shame, he still finds it a little uncomfortable himself whenever they encounter each other with these perpetual failings in decorum. Somehow he prefers that she at least remain unconscious after he has unfortunately discovered her this way so he can at least pretend she would have the modesty to be embarrassed.

With that resolution, he bends over and lifts her from the bed as gently as he can. She stays relaxed and undisturbed, her head easily falling to the side to rest against him rather than rolling back, as he carries her out of the room to take her over to the settee.

He is barely out of the bedroom when he hears a voice to the side of him say impassively, "Don't bother."

With a start, he sees that Holmes is sitting there with his violin, sunk so low into the armchair that he wasn't easily noticeable in the dark.

"She's only pretending to be asleep," he adds.

Mouth dropping open in alarm, Watson looks down at Irene to see her open her eyes and look up at him with a slight guilty smile.

No, there is _definitely_ nothing gentle and harmless about this one at all.

In his surprise he drops her at once, as if feeling like he's been caught red-handed, and by keeping one arm around him for support she manages to land standing before letting go of him.

Pointing to her, he looks at Holmes and asks, "How did you know?"

"She breathes differently when she's really asleep," Holmes answers with a slight shrug, as if this should be obvious. "I can tell when you're only pretending, too."

"You'll excuse me for having a bit of fun with you," she says lightly.

"_Fun?_ Holmes!" He turns toward him with obstinate anger. "This will not do! To be compromising our cases so carelessly—It's outrageous!"

"My dear Watson," Holmes just replies with feigned confusion, staying infuriatingly calm, "tell me how our work is being compromised by my association with Miss Adler."

"Clearly she was pretending to be asleep hoping to overhear some mention of privileged information that I would _hope_ we'd never disclose to her knowingly!"

"I understand."

"No, I don't think you do!"

As if feeling guilty for being the cause of the erupting argument, Irene holds her hands up and says in an attemptedly calming way, "Now, _boys_..."

"I was completely aware of her intentions," Holmes explains, "so obviously I wouldn't have allowed you to say anything compromising as long as she was still here. In fact, when you arrived I said absolutely nothing so as not to start any conversation at all that could potentially lead to you discussing professional matters. But I could hardly deny myself the amusement of letting her lie there awake with such careful self-discipline for over two hours all for nothing."

"Well, marvelous," Watson says heavily. "And what if the next trick she has up her sleeve isn't so easily detectable?"

"Then it will be a much more stimulating challenge to hinder. You can't possibly expect me to give her up now, can you? Not before I've even had the opportunity to work out what all she is up to."

"Oh, for the love of—!"

Watson stops when he hears the door to the bedroom closing behind him after Irene has left them to go in, unnoticed during their fighting, and then he and Holmes both look toward it. Only Holmes catches the following sound of her locking the door behind her, and he rises quickly from his seat to go to it and tries opening it.

Looking back at Watson after the knob won't turn, he says with mild surprise, "I don't think she appreciated our accusations."

Watson frowns with all the agitation he has left in him. "It seems she's_ really_ going to bed now," he says. "And you're not invited."

—————

The following morning, Watson wakes up spread across the settee feeling not much more rested than he was when he came home the night before, his back and neck aching and a couple limbs also feeling slightly numb from a deprivation of proper blood circulation. One of the first things he sees is Irene going past him to move a tray of tea to the table that Mrs. Hudson must have come in and left while he was still asleep. He can see that she is still not fully dressed, but right now she has at least had the consideration to put on the coat Holmes was wearing the day before over the inadequate items she slept in.

The coat that is in fact not Holmes's at all, but his own.

They seem to be alone; he has a feeling Holmes did not get any sleep out here at all through the night and has now taken her place on the bed. Without sitting up, he reaches for the table to pick up a cup and finds no tea poured in it yet. Irene automatically takes it from him to fill it.

"It's still a little warm," she says before carefully handing it back to him. Then, looking over at him as he drinks his tea without saying anything back, she says in a more joking way, "I trust you slept well?"

"Naturally," he says flatly. "I_ love _it when I'm punished for my friend's mistakes. But it's all just fine, I'm used to it by now."

"Well, you were both so thoroughly ignoring me even while talking about me that I only assumed you _wanted_ to be left alone to sleep with one another."

He smirks dryly. "I must admit I'm a little relieved to find you _can_ actually get angry with him. It almost gives me some assurance that you're being genuine."

Irene looks a little confused by the remark. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Watson sits up to face her, looking more closely at her. "That day I found you creatively restrained in the bedroom, you thought at first I was Holmes. Tell me, why ever would you act pleased to see someone who just put you through the humiliation of being left tied up and half-naked for a long period of time?"

"Anyone who is blindfolded can only _act_ pleased to see anyone," she replies easily, but behind the humor there is actually some acid in her tone.

Watson only rolls his eyes.

"I haven't yet paid him back for that," she then admits, softening, "but be sure I will."

He shakes his head. "And you wonder why I don't trust you. Or more likely you _don't_ wonder, I'm sure..."

"Well, you _have _yet to explain your precise reasons for not trusting me from the beginning."

"You really need me to remind you? I could go find some of our records if you like."

"Doctor, I know I'm in no position to deny I'm capable of manipulation and deceit. You know the things I've done before. But why you should be so sure I have anything to gain by deceiving _Holmes_, and doing it _at this time_, I can't understand."

"Even if you have nothing in particular to gain with him, the fickleness shown in how easily you left your husband and then promptly pursued a re-acquaintance with Holmes does not exactly recommend you. But what about the way you neglected to mention to him until recently that you're staying at the Grand Hotel? Isn't it curious that you should happen to be there and we're presently investigating a theft that happened in a room of the same hotel?"

"Yes, the theft of the maharaja's rare diamond," she says with a mocking smile. "Everyone knows it's missing. Is that your idea of privileged information? Or it's missing _again_, to be exact—Isn't it believed to have passed through the hands of four different thieves now? Three others before the men who were hired to recover it failed to hold onto it at the Grand?"

"You seem awfully knowledgeable."

"It's all anyone staying or working at that hotel has been talking about for days. I'm sure Holmes doesn't appreciate the lack of discretion now that he's been employed to locally investigate. But just because it happened there, I gather you think I had something to do with that."

"As I said, I think it's_ curious_. And I think you'd be very clever to realize that getting very close to Holmes might do a lot to blind him from seeing that the perpetrator he's looking for is right beside him, not to mention it might offer you some opportunities to sabotage the case."

Irene just keeps looking calm as she gets up and goes to sit down on the settee beside him where the tray is more within reach, close to where the dog is lying lazily on the floor. "But like you said yourself," she says, leaning over to take a biscuit from the tray, "it was only recently you found out I could have some connection to that crime. You still haven't explained very much why you _always_ felt it wasn't in your colleague's best interests to have any involvement with me."

"It may be I'm simply a good judge of character," he says a little stiffly.

She looks to the side at him with a dark kind of smile. "Sometimes I wonder if you just don't trust _yourself_ with me much more than you trust me with him."

He looks rigidly unaffected as they stay with their eyes locked a moment, and then she slowly raises her hand toward him, reaching behind his neck.

Before she quite touches him, he grabs her wrist very firmly and holds her hand back. "In a way, I believe Holmes _wants_ you to make an idiot out of him," he says a little softly. "It keeps things interesting for him as long as he can still be proven wrong every once in a while. But you'll have no such luck with me."

He lets her go and her shoulders give a quick tremor as if she is suppressing a laugh. Grinning, she says, "I only meant to show you this, doctor," and reaches for something that is partially stuck down in the collar of his shirt. He watches in surprise as she pulls out a folded paper and hands it to him.

"A very private love letter he left for you to find when you wake up, surely," she guesses. "In a place I couldn't find it or at least couldn't take it without waking you because you're a light sleeper...Not that I would want to, as it must be very private."

Watson closes his eyes briefly in agitation. If she wants to resort now to making fun of him as if his vigilance with her is bordering on paranoia, so be it.

"At least he's _trying_ to listen to me about being careful," Watson says tiredly, putting the note safely to the side without reading it yet.

Irene takes a second biscuit and then nibbles on it as she leans over and starts petting Gladstone's head, cooing at the dog softly. After a moment, he just has to stare to the side at her in total disbelief of the strange spectacle. She's petting the dog. She is eating their biscuits and drinking their tea, and wearing _his_ coat, and he is starting to get so used to the distinctive and poignant smell of her perfume lingering around their room that he hardly notices it anymore, and now she is sitting here petting the bloody dog.

He can't take much more of this.

Grabbing the note left from Holmes, he gets up and heads to the door to go out for some fresh air, not even bothering to put shoes on. With his hand ready on the doorknob, he turns back to look at Irene, who meets eyes with him when she sees him stop as if there is something he needs to say.

Pointing to her and looking down at the coat again, he starts to say awkwardly, "You do realize that's _my_...?"

"What?" she just says absently.

Sighing, he shakes his head. "Never mind."

Something tells him he doesn't want to know whether it would even make much of a difference to her.

The letter from Holmes, in short, tells him that "he would be very helpful" to go keep a watch for a while on a house they've been waiting for an opportunity to search for the diamond at a time they won't call too much attention to themselves. If he can ever confirm that it is empty, he must hurry back and wake him immediately. What follows are some extensive and detailed instructions telling him how to go about doing this completely inconspicuously, as well as how to make sure Miss Adler does not follow him, and finally, some last advice that he destroy this letter as soon as he has read it.

Watson doesn't have to think long before he goes back inside and upstairs to get completely dressed. While inside, he lights a match and burns the letter while Irene watches briefly, glancing up from the newspaper she is now looking through.

Usually he despises the idiotically simple jobs Holmes sends him on (though he always insists that it would only be idiotic to think there is anything simple about doing any part of their work well, and he probably gives him such complicated instructions partially just to make him feel like he should be flattered to be thought capable of such banal tasks). But right now he would follow any request giving him an excuse to get away from their rooms that hardly feel like _his_ at all anymore. And it does make him feel a little better and give him some renewed confidence that Holmes does seem to be taking their need for discretion somewhat seriously after all.


	4. Part 4 of 6

**IV.**

At last Holmes relents, and says to him as he is about to leave the next evening, "No need to go hide, Watson. If I see her tonight it'll be _me _leaving."

Watson turns back around at the door and says nothing at first, a little hesitant to believe him in case it is too good to be true.

"She said you gave her a very brilliant idea yesterday, you see," Holmes explains, "when you mentioned to her the _convenient_ coincidence that she has a room at the Grand, which was the scene of a crime we are still working to solve."

"Convenient..." Watson echoes the word with a lost look on his face.

"Yes. Why couldn't I make a habit of visiting her there and just let others assume I must be returning to look for evidence?"

As the understanding settles, he just narrows his eyes at him. "Somehow I suspect your unsurpassable mind could have come to that idea yourself...and much _sooner_."

Holmes looks over at him with something a little humoring in his eyes as he sits down in the chair next to his. "Yes, you clearly know me too well," he says, saying the admission with not a little irony in his tone. "Perhaps my true reason is that I've found I can be a surprisingly jealous man, and I no longer feel secure in having her all to myself."

Watson breaks out into laughter. Holmes's mouth tightens into the subtlest smile as he looks to the side at him.

"You laugh," he says, sounding less serious than ever despite his expression staying mild, "but it's I who should laugh at you. You're a fool if you're_not_ in love with her."

"And you always stand to be made one because you _are_," Watson says, still lightly laughing a little. "Don't think I'd deny that she is certainly...well...an _exceptional_ woman. And maybe I've seen a lot more of her than would usually be prudent to discourage attraction. But being a doctor, I _have_ seen it all before, after all. Enough to be safely desensitized from her powerful influence, I think."

Holmes scoffs. "Oh, you've seen women before," he says as if he is almost offended by the statement, saying the word "women" as if their collective existence is the simplest and most boring concept he never dwells on. "But_ Irene Adler_...She might as well be an entirely different sex than anything else that walks this earth. She is never to be underestimated."

"I believe that's what I've been trying to tell you," he says flatly, and then he sighs. "Perhaps one day when I have a woman I'll..._almost_ understand."

"No, I doubt that," Holmes mumbles quickly as he gets up.

Looking at him with some annoyance, Watson thinks he understands after hearing that what his actual motivation is for finally letting him have his way. As he kept trying to avoid Irene as much as possible, Holmes must have decided that her presence was not worth his prolonged absences during all their free hours of the day. Anything that threatens to remove Watson as a mindless permanent fixture in his professional and domestic life is abhorrent to Holmes, and there is no telling what the unintended effects could be of him getting a little too much healthy and fresh air outside of this claustrophobic place they share, always sharing _everything_. Therefore, just like that, the woman is gone.

When Holmes is about to leave and get on his way to the hotel, Watson turns to him in his chair and stops him momentarily, telling him for probably the tenth time, "Keep her nose out of our business!"

"Of course."

"You won't talk with her about anything beyond the London weather. She is not to know where you're coming from when you get there or where you're going after you leave her."

"Of course."

Almost letting him finally go as he opens the door, Watson waits a moment and then looks back at him to add, "I don't even want you sleeping there! Ever! You _talk_ in your sleep, are you aware of that?"

Holmes just gives him a slight smirk before he's out the door.

—————

Of course it is only a few days later that Watson finds himself having to go to the hotel himself and find their room after Holmes failed to be where he was supposed to be when he needed him. He aggressively raps his cane on the door several times before Irene finally comes to open it, dressed in a silk robe.

Seeing him, she slowly smiles and leans to one side of the door, just looking somehow very amused to see him here of all places.

"Well?" he says impatiently. "Is he here?"

"Do you have to take him away from me already?" she asks.

"I've a love letter for him," Watson says dryly. "An _urgent_ one."

After hearing those words, Holmes appears behind her, quickly buttoning up his shirt. "Yes?" he asks in a rush. "What is it?"

Irene moves to the side to let Watson come in and shuts the door. Looking over at her briefly and obviously hesitating to say certain things, he just explains vaguely, "Our...subject has left the premises."

"Ah, good. We must hurry then."

"Yes, if we can even still get there fast enough. I already wasted some time going back home where you said to come find you."

Holmes looks over at Irene and says, "You, darling, could be quite useful coming with us."

She tilts her head to the side a little as if surprised.

"_Holmes_," Watson says, looking at him with much more shock. "What did we talk about?"

"We don't need to disclose any specifics about what we're doing in order for her to accompany us, do we? Besides, she'll only wait outside the whole time. I'm sure you can see how she could easily provide distraction should either of our subjects return before we're finished there."

"Sub_ject!_" Watson says. "Not more than one, as far as she's concerned! Why don't you just hand over all our notes to her while you're at it?"

Completely at ease, Irene ignores their conflict and finally says, "Just give me a moment."

She heads toward a screen standing at the other end of the room. Watson is much too concerned with more important matters to spare the attention to be uncomfortable this time when she lets the robe fall from her shoulders and he sees nothing but skin for a brief moment before her back side then disappears behind the screen, where she then starts changing into some clothes. Right away, he grabs Holmes by the arm and drags him as far from her as they can get by the opposite wall.

"What in the hell are you _doing?_" he says, trying to keep his voice down.

"It will be fine," Holmes just assures him.

"You've completely lost your head if you don't think all this will do is lead her straight to—"

"There's no time to take the necessary measures to completely evade her," Holmes explains quickly in a very low voice. "It's much better to have her with us where you can keep an eye on her than have her following us there, as I suspect she might do otherwise."

"Where _I_ can keep an eye on her?"

"Yes. You'll leave the search for the_ item _mostly up to me."

When she comes back out in a burgundy dress almost all ready to leave, Watson still looks very reluctant. While putting her boots on, she says to him, comfortably smiling as always, "Just remember this was never my idea."


	5. Part 5 of 6

**V.**

"Isn't there a way of doing this legally?" Irene asks them as they approach their destination. "If it's something _stolen _you're looking for, that is."

"You mean as opposed to a disreputable photograph?" Watson says, looking to the side at her. She just gives him a gratified smirk, a look he returns briefly and less noticeably.

"The police can be sloppy," Holmes says dismissively. "I always prefer not to involve them unless it's absolutely necessary. And with everyone in London knowing now that this diamond has gone missing here, I don't completely trust anyone else to protect it. If my suspicions about these Morehouse brothers are correct and all goes well tonight, I intend to hand it back over to my employer personally, without anyone ever knowing it's in my possession."

"With present company excluded, of course," Watson says with lucid irritation, making Irene grin.

Looking at him in a way that seems almost apologetic, Holmes just says, "As if there was any doubt she already knew what case this errand must be relevant to...Watson, you don't know Irene as well as I do, so I understand your concern. But trust that I know what I'm doing, won't you? Or at least have the courtesy to keep your thoughts to yourself."

"_Courtesy_," Watson just mutters under his breath with amazement.

—————

When their two subjects do end up returning to the house while they're still looking around inside on the second floor, Holmes glances out the window after hearing them approach and looks slightly distraught.

"What?" Watson asks, seeing his reaction.

"It appears Mr. and Mr. Morehouse have two associates with them," he says. He watches Irene already talking to them invitingly where she stands near the steps for only a second before quickly pulling back away from the window.

Watson frowns. It will be a lot more difficult for her to keep four men engaged enough to stay outside than one or two.

"At least this could prove to be illuminating," Holmes then says as he continues to thoroughly check every square foot of the room they're in for any indication of a hiding place. "Her willingness to humor four strange men all at once will look more suspicious, but should they become suspicious _too _easily and very soon—"

As he speaks, they hear Irene give a short, shrill scream outside.

"—such as right now," Holmes continues, starting to look only a little unsettled, "then we'll know for certain—"

"That they have something worth stealing," Watson finishes, looking around the room meaningfully as if it looks different to him now.

"Right..."

With that, Holmes immediately springs back into action, searching the room much more rapidly by throwing things aside to look under them, no longer bothering to stay quiet. Watson is the one to go steal a glance outside the window now, suspecting that Irene screamed not out of real fear but to warn them they soon won't be alone. He sees that two of the men appear to be trying to intimidate her, one of them having grabbed her roughly by the arm so she can't get away, while the other two are now rushing inside.

"I hope you remembered your revolver today," he mutters urgently as he turns back to Holmes.

Now searching intensively inside a wardrobe, Holmes reminds him, "Aren't you meant to be looking after our woman?"

He looks a little taken aback. "Won't the greater danger be here?"

"Not if there's a chance they're stupid enough to assume there is only one of us," Holmes answers. Following those words, he quickly moves to hide himself behind one side of the wardrobe just as the two sets of footsteps charging up the stairs get very close.

Then the two approaching men appear through the doorway, both of them familiar to him as the residents of the house after all the time he and Holmes have spent spying on them, and Watson finds himself left alone to face them.

Lovely.

He quickly draws out his revolver and smashes the handle into the window behind him to break it. As he starts climbing over the ledge to drop out of it, one of the men takes out his own gun. He has barely raised it toward him before Holmes fluidly bolts right out from his hiding place with his revolver taken out and hits the man over the head with it, instantly knocking him out.

After he sees his brother fall to the floor and turns to Holmes, the last Watson sees of the other is him forcefully tackling Holmes in an attempt to get his pistol away from him. He then lets himself hang from the ledge with one hand to make the fall as short as possible before letting go.

Recovering from the hard landing on the steps, Watson sees Irene seizing the opportune moment to shove her elbow back into the side of the man holding her. But as soon as he lets her go with a heavy groan of pain, the tallest and largest of all four of the criminals stops her from getting away by grabbing onto her dress at the back of her neck. He pulls her back toward him so roughly that she trips and for a moment only stays on her feet because of the man's incredibly strong hold on her.

Watson swiftly raises his revolver toward him, but then sees with dismay more than surprise that the others outside are also not completely unarmed as the large man whips one out and points it at Irene's head.

"You'd better drop that and hand over whatever you're taking from us," he says with a gravelly voice, "or else I'll be taking a hole out of this one's pretty head."

He stays frozen in hesitation a moment while Irene's eyes shift to the side toward the gun pointed at her, widened a little as she now seems adequately intimidated. As is always his only resort when he finds himself not knowing what to do, he can only trust that Holmes does always know what he is doing and will somehow be able to sort everything out as long as he follows everything he told him. So all he can think of right now is what he asked of him tonight regarding being responsible for Irene, and with that in mind, he finds himself slowly lowering his arm to his side.

"Now _drop it_," says the one holding her as he threateningly presses the mouth of his gun right against her temple. He drags her a little closer to him with his grip on the back of her dress now lifting her heels slightly from the ground.

With a slight sigh, Watson lets go of it. As soon as he is without the revolver, the slighter man comes right at him, kicks it far out of his reach, and tries to throw him a punch. Watson moves to miss it, his own fist meeting him deep in the gut.

At that moment, a sudden outburst of noise from the house—a gunshot shattering the other upstairs window, the crash of something heavy falling over, and a pained cry not coming from Holmes—tells him the struggle up on the second floor must be going favorably. With alarm and confusion at hearing the fight, the two men outside both look up towards the house.

Irene suddenly has a controlled and determined look, and during their short moment of distraction she throws her arms up, gives a small jump up on her toes, and then lets her weight drop, yanking herself out of her dress to get free before the man holding onto it even sees what she's doing. Observing this, Watson is unable to help but grin slightly and give a short surprised laugh. By the time the man moves to grab her again, she has crouched down low and he has to lean far over to try to reach her; in the next instant she throws the bottom of the dress completely off of her and bolts away much too fast as a blur of white with her petticoat billowing behind her. She runs right to Watson, who wastes no time in getting away with her after fighting off their other pursuer with a last punch to his jaw that knocks him over.

They start running toward the right side of the house to get into the alley beside it. Glancing over her shoulder, Irene sees the one with the gun about to shoot and she abruptly turns to Watson and throws him hard against the wall at the front edge of the house. With the breath knocked out of him as she presses close against him, he sees the bullet that was meant for him shoot right past the back of her head, brushing at some of her hair. He immediately grabs her and pulls her down with him as he ducks low, missing a second shot that ear-splittingly crumbles the brick right where his head was before, and then they quickly make it around the corner in a crouch.

"Watson!" Holmes calls from the window that was just broken right before they pass below it, then throws a large bundle out of it for Watson to catch: something made of gray cloth which is sure to be wrapped around the more important article. He tucks it tightly under his left arm and reaches with his opposite hand to take Irene's arm before taking off to run faster, just then hearing gunshots coming from the window that must be Holmes shooting at the men still trying to chase them.

Leaving the other end of the alley, he pulls Irene along with him as he turns left.

"Thank you," he mutters to her as they run on.

"Not at all," she says back through her quick breaths.

He relaxes a little and lets go of her once they've made it a couple blocks away, not before having a chance to notice her very bare arm feels a little chilled. This time he is quite willing to allow her to wear his coat so that she doesn't freeze, and to avoid the shocked stares of everyone who sees them on the street.

—————

Though the likelihood that they've left Holmes in any great danger seems inconsiderable, given who he is, Watson has to strongly will himself not to think about it too much until he has first made it back home, knowing Holmes meant for him to only worry about getting away with the diamond and taking it somewhere safe. Irene acts so uninterested in the object they took that at a less dire time he would realize and care that this is probably more suspicious than anything. She leaves him to go send the police, saying that even if Holmes is probably more than capable of taking control of the situation on his own he'll need them to clean up after him as usual.

So on his own he rushes back to Baker Street and up to the sitting room as fast as he can, and then with caution he can admit possibly _is_ bordering on paranoia, he turns back to the door to lock it behind him before taking out what he is about to look at.

He takes the gray bundle to the floor by the gently burning fireplace where he can see it clearly in the light and then starts to unwrap it. And then completely unravels it, letting it fall into its real shape. And then gives it a few shakes because surely something will fall out.

But there is absolutely nothing hidden inside.

Then he actually notices what the thing is he has been carrying all this time. A dress. One that coincidentally but conveniently looks about Miss Adler's size.

Watson throws it down on the floor and groans, "Oh, _damn him!_"

In his feeling of complete ridiculousness, he almost throws it right into the fire in front of him. But then, calming a little with the realization that there are more important things to give his attention to right now, he just leaves it and stands back up. As he wanders around the room to gather his things together, Gladstone saunters heavily over toward the fire, probably just having been woken up by his short outburst, and all at once Watson realizes it's quite cold in the room. Irene has his coat, he remembers, and he knows they have no others kept around here. He has also lost his revolver, which they keep no replacements for either. He realizes then what he is looking to grab out of habit is his cane, and as he's sure he remembers doing without it all night, he has no idea where it could be if he didn't leave it here today.

So, with nothing but his person, he goes back downstairs to leave, cold and unarmed, to go make sure his friend has not been shot.

But he has just barely made it outside and started down the sidewalk when he hears said behind him, "Watson."

"_Ah!_" Jumping in shock, he turns right around to see Holmes right there and then catches his breath.

"Sorry," Holmes mutters.

Watson just rolls his eyes and says wearily, "Did you get it?"

"Get what?" Holmes asks in an unconcerned tone. Then he holds out something which Watson realizes is his coat and says, "Here you are. The lady had no more need for this when I saw her there."

"How did you get back here so quickly?" he asks in confusion as he puts the coat on, feeling something heavy in one pocket and seeing Holmes found his revolver and put it in there.

"The police are good for nothing if not giving a ride home when it's important."

"But...the _diamond_. Did you ever find it or not?"

"Watson, what do you think I _gave_ you?"

"You didn't give me any diamond! Like the completely intolerable ass you are, all you threw down to me was a dress for Irene to wear!"

Only then does Holmes start to look on edge, freezing still a second after hearing that. Suddenly seeming to struggle not to lose his composure at all, he says in a tight and forcefully controlled voice, "Watson..._why_ would you ever think that was my intention?"

"I don't know!" he says with thick irony. "Maybe only because you're impeccably observant to a level that is probably unhealthy and obsessive, and by the time you gave it to me she was at present quite _without clothes!_"

With a horrified groan, Holmes suddenly turns slightly away from him and rakes his hands in his hair for a second, starting to shake his head a little frantically as he talks to himself. "Oh no," he mumbles. "No no _no_, even _she_ isn't that clever, it's impossible she could have arranged for..._Impossible_..."

"Holmes!" Watson says, grabbing him by the arm to make him face him again. "Are you going to explain what you're going mad about?"

Holmes finally collects himself enough again to look at Watson and speak almost calmly. Taking hold of his shoulders tightly, he says, "Watson...my dear fellow..._please_ assure me that you did not allow Irene Adler to leave you wearing _that dress_."

He just looks more confused than ever, shaking his head briefly. "No. I didn't even realize what it was you'd given me until I got back here alone."

Holmes seems to practically get light-headed with the relief as he breathes out a long, heavy sigh, and then he slaps Watson on one shoulder. "Good. That's very good. I knew I could depend on you to keep an eye on her, Watson. Good, if she doesn't have it, that means we've not seen the last of her."

He lets out a slightly dark laugh, shaking his head. "Is that all you care about?"

"Nearly. There's also the matter of the button now missing from your coat which was not gone the last time I saw you in it."

Following his gaze downward with a bemused expression, Watson looks down and sees he is right: nothing but some ripped tufts of thread remain on his coat where the next button from the top one used to be.

Before he barely has the chance to wonder why it matters, Holmes goes on, "But most important right now, of course, is that dress. Where is it?"

Sighing as if surrendering to the complete nonsense of all this, Watson just waves him toward the door so he'll follow him back in.

In the sitting room, they find Gladstone now lying nestled on top of it in front of the fireplace as if it is a rug. Holmes bends over to tug at one of the gray sleeves and mutters in a low voice, "Go on, boy, _off._"

After the dog moves enough to let him pull it away, he throws it right at Watson for him to catch it. "The hiding place made itself obvious enough, as I thought it was unusual for there to be only one item of women's clothing kept in the entire house, and then I noticed how two or three inches of the seam around the waist in back appears to have been ripped open and then sewn back together by an amateur...Indeed, no woman occupying that household at all."

Watson thinks he is finally catching on, and he shakes his head at himself, feeling as usual like Holmes's findings should have been obvious all along. Looking at the place at the back of the dress he described, he feels around the fabric and quite easily finds where it is resting right above the seam: something smooth and hard that has been sewn inside a layer of the dress.

"Of _course_ it's sewn into the dress," he says unenthusiastically, handing it back to Holmes.

"We'll just put this safely away for now along with your pocketbook," Holmes says, going to unlock the bottom drawer of his desk.

"Isn't that a little...obvious?" he asks. "Your locked drawer?"

"Yes, the most obvious place. Dreadfully obvious. Now, are you ready to go?"

Not following anything he's said at all, Watson says, "Go where?"

"I said we'd meet Irene later. She may be waiting outside already. She must return your walking stick which you left in her room, and I have absolutely no inclination to stay at home tonight after such a thrilling end to the biggest case we've been given this year, have you?"

Watson goes over to the window and looks down into the street. Surely enough, Irene is standing there outside against a lamp post with his cane, back in her burgundy dress which she must have retrieved from where she lost it. Evidently with nothing else to do while she waits, she is looking over the cane closely; as he watches, she pulls one end away to expose a few inches of the blade inside, and he smirks with some amusement as he can see her very curious expression at the discovery.

He turns back away and then just mutters to Holmes, "Right," going to find his hat.

Two hours later, the three of them are seated together at one of the shoddy establishments where Watson has lost more money than he would like to know in total, Holmes and Irene seated in one chair next to his with her on his lap.

He knows he must be very drunk by now because he only realizes just how close to both of them he is sitting when he suddenly finds Irene's hand easily reaching into his coat pocket. She has a laughing smile on her face as she leans toward him with her elbow on the table, taking something out of the pocket to show him: his button that had disappeared.

"It fell off while I was borrowing your coat," she explains. "Probably got pulled loose while you were climbing out of that window."

He takes it from her to look at it with a mild smile before putting it back away. "Thank you, I don't have any extras. Though I suppose I'd still have to be grateful if it was all I lost today."

"I could sew it back on for you if you like," she says. There is a teasing edge in her voice which has become familiar to him by now, so he just gives a small shake of his head with a dismissing look, knowing she's not being serious. She laughs lightly, and as he looks at her a little closely with all the sounds in the room ringing and buzzing surreally, he brings his hand to her face and gently pinches away a fallen eyelash he has spotted on her cheek.

She smiles with a light-hearted kind of enjoyment as he holds up the eyelash carefully on the tip of one finger. "Make a wish," she says.

Cocking an eyebrow unsurely, he says, "Aren't you supposed to?"

Irene shrugs and resolves, "I'll make one for you."

She first glances to the side at Holmes in a way that seems to communicate some shared joke. Oddly drawn into the frivolous game of it all, he quickly assumes a look of protest before she leans over to blow it away from Watson's finger. As if he can somehow guess exactly what she is thinking, Holmes says a quick "No," reaching over and grabbing his hand around Watson's to pull it away, but a moment too late. "No wretched lace doilies for the doctor," he says. "Never."

Irene throws her head back laughing heartily while Holmes then releases Watson's hand with a lightly perturbed look. She turns to face Holmes in his lap, taking his face in her hands. "You can't keep him all to yourself forever," she says through her continued laughter, shaking her head at him playfully, and now he is also giving her a small smile.

He must be _very_ drunk indeed because they aren't making any sense to him at all—or at least even less than usual.

When they are served their next round of drinks, as they raise their glasses up before drinking she elects to say with a smile Watson would almost descibe as warm, "To brothers."

Before the end of the night, two men who recognize Holmes as someone who "cheated" them out of some money once pick a fight with them, one of them promptly ending up with a broken nose before Irene breaks a glass over the other's head; she accompanies them back to Baker Street walking down the street arm-in-arm with both of them; and none of them end up taking the bed.

After passing out in a strange position in one of the armchairs, Watson is abruptly shaken awake very early in the morning by the loud pierce of a gunshot, followed immediately by Irene's incredibly mirthful and wild laughter in response to the accident, or whatever it was. Before Watson turns his head, adjusting his position just slightly and looking through half-closed eyes at everything, he registers a glimpse of her and Holmes sitting leaning together against the desk on the other side of the room, legs sprawled slightly apart carelessly, still dressed exactly as they were before after apparently staying up through the whole night. The dog is licking at a dropped wine glass on the floor. He closes his eyes and falls back asleep with the soft murmur fading of Holmes talking in a low voice of something about his brother Mycroft and thirteen stitches.


	6. Part 6 of 6

**VI.**

The next day in the sitting room at 221B between 5:47 and 5:56, there is a faint chemical smell that is detected a moment too late; the heavy drop of someone falling limply out of a chair to the floor; the gleam of a key resting at the dark bottom of a pocket; beautiful white teeth snapping at thread to cut it; the neat and clean but quick scrawling on paper; the rustle of cloth of somebody changing clothes; and then departing footsteps that stop momentarily on one of the top stairs as Irene Adler reaches into a tight hidden pouch on the inside of her sleeve and takes out a ring which she puts back on her left finger before continuing down the staircase.

On his way back home, Watson goes through an alley approaching Baker Street and finds himself passing Miss Adler, who only smiles and nods at him in greeting.

Brow creasing as he notices something, he abruptly holds out his cane before she completely passes by him, blocking her way to stop her in her steps. Irene looks back at him, only looking bemused by him stopping her, as he brings his eyes up and down her figure attentively.

"I'm not sure that dress is quite your color, Miss Adler," he says meaningfully.

For she is wearing a very familiar gray one.

She gives him an ignorant-looking smile, suddenly fidgeting with her hands a little in front of her. "He let me keep it for the memories," she says, and then her face becomes more serious. "I just came to say goodbye, you see...I've been given some news that compels me to leave London, and I'm not sure when I am to see him again..."

Watson just watches her delicate and subtle expression of regret with careful scrutiny. As she keeps holding her hands together, one covering the other, he finds his eyes drawn down to them with a sudden suspicion. He has not lived this long with Sherlock Holmes for nothing.

With no care for tact, he reaches for her left wrist to pull her hand quickly away from the other and uncover it. Her eyes go wide when he holds it up and looks, seeing a generously sized jewel glimmering on her ring finger.

"_No_," he says in a low and incredulous voice, not surprised by the deceit so much as the extent of it. "All this time you have still been married!"

Irene still doesn't completely drop the act, looking down as if slightly ashamed.

He then acts quickly, holding his cane under one arm to grab at her with both hands. He starts feeling around her hips and her waist around the back of the dress, demanding, "Where is it?"

"What are you _talking_ about?" she says, sounding very uncomfortable and trying to pull his arms away with a shocked look. "Doctor, this is most inappropriate!"

Watson just smiles at her mockingly. "Why suddenly so shy?" As she keeps fighting to break free of his searching hands, he says with growing frustration, "You know perfectly well what's hidden in this dress!"

Her expression finally returns to something looking like the real Irene. "As do you," she says with a diabolical smile. "Haven't you seen it enough already?"

Finally one of his hands finds where he can feel a prominent, hard bump under the cloth, the diamond now slid around to the other side of the waist so that it can't be reached by tearing open the loose part of the seam. He has no idea how she made off with it, but quite certainly the dress still carries the same value as it did when he took it last night.

"Give it up, Miss Adler," he says dangerously, still calling her that out of habit.

"Give up what?" she says, no longer putting any effort in giving a convincing performance but just being enraging.

"The—the diamond." He starts stammering in his frustration, grabbing at her skirt forcefully and not completely sure about what to do. "The _dress_. Give it—_Take it off._"

It fits her quite tightly, he sees with dismay. She just keeps smiling at him almost as if she is getting some kind of personal amusement out of his trouble with it. "I'm afraid there's no way to be a gentleman about this, doctor. I know that isn't usually in your nature."

He looks straight at her face a moment after that, his look resolute and determined, as if he takes the words like some kind of challenge. "Very well," he says. "We'll do this the hard way."

She grunts in slight pain when he pins her hard against the brick wall behind her with one forearm held firmly across her waist, letting both his hands momentarily free. He takes his cane from under his arm and swiftly draws the sword out. Then, stepping on one of her feet with moderate pressure to keep holding her in place, he bends over and takes up the bottom of the dress, starting to cut through it easily from the bottom up. She stays still with some of her former look of amusement still present as a trace in her eyes, letting him carefully slide the blade up through the tight waist of the dress with it lying flat, bringing it all the way up until the point protrudes out of the neckline under her chin. Then he reaches for her face to tilt her head back before turning the blade at the smallest angle and then jerking it forward in a quick movement that slices the rest of the dress open with ease.

As he turns her around to hold her lightly against the wall as he pulls the sleeves free from her arms, she says somewhat impassively, "I assume it's your intention to give me the embarrassment of having to leave this way."

"Not at all," he says as he lets her turn back around and then grabs onto her arm securely. Putting the sheath end of his cane back over the blade, he explains, "Only to give you the embarrassment of being dragged back to my _room_ this way."

As she registers his meaning, her eyes locked still on him become hardened for a moment with defiance. She waits just a moment looking at him this way, and then forcefully lunges herself to the side, pulling hard to try to get free from his grasp.

It takes all of Watson's effort to hold onto her tightly and keep her from running away. He can't possibly allow her to escape after all of this. He's afraid turning her over to the authorities may be the only certain way to ensure that Holmes will never be stupid enough to fall prey to her ever again.

"Be reasonable!" he says as she continues to struggle wildly to get away. "How far could you even run looking this conspicuous?"

Then Irene suddenly lets out a very panicked-sounding scream. "Please! _Help!_"

Oh no.

Watson drops his cane as he quickly grabs at her to cover his hand over her mouth and silence her. But already there are several passers-by gathering at each end of the alley after her cries drew their attention, now looking shocked by the sight of the scantily dressed woman being roughly handled.

"By God!" says one man to him. "What the devil do you think you're doing to that poor woman?!"

He instantly backs away from her, letting her go except for keeping a firm grasp around one wrist. "No!" he says as he looks at the horrified eyes on him, holding his other arm up beseechingly. "Please, it's not—You don't understand!"

"Help me!" Irene calls again, her eyes crazed in an impeccable performance of fear.

"_Shut up!_" he says in a low but sharp voice, now grabbing onto her shoulders to turn her to him and look at her with threatening anger.

Then her expression wavers from the frightened mask, taking on her typical clever smile. "I'm very sorry to do this, doctor," she mutters.

Before he realizes where her hands are, one is pulling out his revolver and then has it pointed straight on him. He jumps back slightly in alarm, his hold on her loosening just enough that she is able to force herself away. A whole crowd of curious and angry onlookers is now gathering in the alley on both sides of them, and as she backs away with the gun still pointed at him, a noble soul takes off his coat and puts it over her shoulders to cover her as if she is still the vision of complete helplessness she was a moment ago. Peeking through the thickening crowd, Watson is able to see her lowering the gun once she has backed up almost to the end of the alley. Just before disappearing around the corner, Irene Adler winks at him.

Then she is gone.

And without even having the threat of a revolver to defend himself now, Watson finds himself suddenly helpless to escape the numerous men now pressing in on him intent on showing their displeasure in defense of the beautiful lady, as if they haven't even realized she is no longer there to be impressed.

Before he moves to defend himself from the first punch from an attacker, he spares a brief thought to wonder if getting the diamond from her is even worth all this when this was always Holmes's problem and would be more of his loss in the end, and swears to himself he is going to kill the man.

Almost none of the men taking it upon themselves to teach him a lesson make it away without some injuries of their own, but in the end it is just Watson left on the ground after a final kick to his side leaves him too weakened to immediately rise back up. Finally satisfied, and now starting to attract some shocked attention from people who did not see enough to understand their justification for victimizing him, the last of the men who wanted a moment with him leave him there.

For a moment he just stays lying on his side, thinking decisively how this is most definitely _not_ worth it. No.

Then, with a sudden not-quite-defined but still gripping worry, he opens his eyes wide. Driven right back to action, he raises himself up to sit, groaning at the pains in several places on his body. He grabs the dress where it lays next to him and turns it onto the back side, and something he sees automatically makes him go still a second: the place at the seam where the diamond was inserted actually looks even less neatly sewn back together than it looked before. He quickly rips it open to take out what is inside.

All he finds is a large brass button which was what he could feel inside it before—his own stray coat button, to be exact. And with it is a small folded note.

.

_Dear Dr. Watson,_

_If you're reading this, then I was right in predicting I would end up crossing paths with you as I left your residence, or that you would at least manage to catch up to me, after you returned home at 6:00 as you do every Saturday. I'm afraid I had the diamond tucked inside one of my shoes the whole time, and that you were, of course, right about me on many counts, while Holmes for all the good it did him was right on nearly all._  
_Be sure to keep trying to protect your friend from himself as well as you do. I dare say he is almost as dear to me as he is to you, though I also seem to have my own ways of being misleading._  
_I'm sure I might have been able to avoid a last confrontation with you altogether if I had not taken the time to write this letter and prepare a means of escape at all. But in the end, I couldn't resist the potential opportunity for provoking you to willingly have me undressed for once._

_I.A.N._

.

After reading it, he grabs his cain from the ground and stands up, crumples the note into a ball in his first and throws it down before leaving the alley.

"That..._damn...woman!_" he mutters in a low growl to himself when he is going up the stairs inside with his feet stomping heavily in his bitter outrage.

When he goes through the door into the sitting room, he is stopped in surprise for a second at the sight of Holmes lying motionless on the floor near his desk and then rushes toward him. He is unconscious, with traces of lipstick on one side of his face, a spool of thread lying on the floor near where he has fallen as well as a wet folded cloth.

"Holmes!" Watson says, lifting his forearm and shaking it.

Holmes stirs slowly with a quiet groan and a dazed turn of his head, then opens his eyes to look up at Watson. Gradually regaining his sharp sensibility, he seems to read something very clearly from the look on his face.

"Sorry, old chap," he murmurs. "She couldn't help herself."

He scoffs. "Who?" he asks sarcastically. "Could you mean _Mrs. Norton?_"

Holmes frowns, barely perceptibly, then sighs a little. "Yes. I knew she was still his wife. I knew...almost the entire time..." His speech trails off with the effort he takes to sit up, clearly still light-headed.

"What did she _do_ to you?" Watson asks, taking hold of him under his arms behind him to help him get up on his feet.

Holmes gestures toward the cloth on the floor. "Chloroform, no doubt," he says. "Not the most ruthless method she could have used once she had resolved to take the diamond from me by force."

"And I suppose you had no expectation she would do so," Watson says critically as he helps him over into a chair.

"I took no chances. I meant to stay in this room all of today to keep a close watch up until our appointment to deliver it to our client at eight-o-clock tonight, but it seems I obviously should have had you stay here with me through the day. I was only sitting there, in the process of reattaching your button to your coat, when she came in after evidently making a point of not noticeably stopping at the top of the stairs this time and also changing the sound of her footsteps so that I thought she was Mrs. Hudson, and before I knew it she was coming at me from behind..."

"You were...what?" Watson asks, getting a little lost, and then looking over toward the desk where he now sees his coat lays. "You were trying to _sew_ my_ button_ back on?"

"Yes. I was...reattaching it, yes," Holmes says with a tone of impatience as he explains it again.

"Is that why you hid it from me so I couldn't find my own coat to wear this morning? So you would have something to do here all day?"

"Watson," Holmes says very seriously, "a place where a button needs replacing or a tear that needs mending on part of a man's clothing means the same as it does for a woman to be without a wedding ring. A most certain sign of a bachelor. And for yours to be missing from such a noticeable location on the upper area of your outermost article of clothing looks almost tastelessly desperate. Good God, you'll have women throwing themselves at you from every direction everywhere we go! We can't have that at all, not if we're to be efficient and focused in our everyday work without distraction."

He just shakes his head dismissively, closing his eyes a moment. "Whatever you say...How did she even find where it was hidden anyway?"

"It hardly matters. There are only so many ways to hide something in a small place like this and she is much too clever not to be able to figure it out somehow. But actually, I had slipped the key to my drawer into your pocket for temporary safekeeping."

Watson looks up in alarm. "The drawer which you're meant to keep _me_ from getting into? And you just let me _have the key?_"

"Well, you didn't know you had it, did you?" Holmes just answers lightly. "But obviously she had a pretty good idea after she felt a key in your pocket last night. And again, my mistake was in assuming I could physically protect both items as long as I were here, if I didn't trust my wit against hers. But she managed to physically incapacitate me, and then it was all too easy for her to discover where the dress was hidden, most unimpressively easy...But I see you got the more brutal treatment." He is now looking more closely at the soiled state of Watson's clothes and the wounds on his face with some alarm. "What the deuce _happened_ to you anyway?"

He just shakes his head. "Suffice it to say the days haven't changed since fights for the sake of your lovely woman could easily ensue," he says, remembering one he once witnessed breaking out outside Adler's house that allowed Holmes to pretend to have gotten hurt.

Seeming to understand enough, Holmes just raises his brow briefly.

Something Holmes said before now rattles in his head. "What was that I thought I heard about you _knowing_ she was still married?" he asks in some disbelief.

"Yes, I knew since that day you found her in the bedroom," Holmes explains easily. "Though obstructing one's eyesight can have a quite pleasurable effect on making other senses especially stimulating, my principle reason for blindfolding Irene as long as I had her tied up in bed was to quickly search through all her possessions to satisfy my suspicion. After I found her ring, of course, I became rather distraught and was hardly inclined to proceed as planned, instead deciding to leave her there a while.

"That was why she always paused at the top of the stairs, you see—to remove or put back on her ring. If I know Irene at all, the careful regularity of this action as if the ring is the most important, as well as other simple indications I noted in all the time I spent with her, reveals the marriage has only become a superficial show and is all but completely dissolved. Especially considering she is at liberty to travel on her own for so long. I would expect it won't last more than six more months."

"Oh, what are you on about?" Watson says intolerantly as he leans his head into his hand with weariness, not liking the way he almost sounds hopeful about the idea.

"You needn't look at me that way, Watson," Holmes says.

"I'm not looking at you at _all_."

"He was unfaithful to her first."

Then Watson does look back up at him. "How could you know _that?_"

"Because the one time I met him right before they were married, I could pick him out as the unfaithful type from twenty feet away."

"Indeed," he just says in a very flat and skeptical tone, though his look has nevertheless softened a little.

Holmes calmly goes on explaining. "When I found out she was staying at the Grand, I never had any great suspicion that she was responsible for the disappearance of the diamond. However, I found it very likely she had seen me there at some point and easily deduced that I had taken the case and then decided to initiate a reconnection with me. The theft was too simple to have been her work, you see, and all evidence pointed to there being at least more than one culprit. Irene is cunning enough to steal something on her own and in a way that carries her distinct signature, or else she would not be interested in it at all, for common everyday theft is rather below her. But I knew the idea of stealing it from right under my most astute nose might appeal to her a great deal. When I said you don't know Irene as well as I do, I did not mean that I ever had more reason to trust her, but only that the easier you make it for her to do something, the less interested she will be in doing it. I thought my best chance at protecting myself was to be as heedless with her as possible to take all of the challenge and satisfaction out of crossing someone like me. But I suppose in the end...she is who she is."

"You don't imagine the best way of protecting yourself would have been to listen to me from the beginning?" Watson asks, his tone now too tired to even sound angry.

"Well...everyone has to have their weakness, Watson."

As if accepting that a little, he sits back in the chair with a long sigh, looking up at the ceiling. Then after a moment, he says with an only dimly regretful realization, "I never even had the chance to _see_ the damn thing."

Looking over at him again, Holmes asks, "What?"

"The diamond," he clarifies. "In stealing the dress right off her back like an idiot, all I got to see was my own coat button. Well, and the woman and her revealed figure, _again_."

"Ah. Yes...A diamond of that color and size, a rare thing to see indeed." Thinking about it, Holmes sighs a little wistfully. "I suppose it suits her more than any common person of royalty anyway."

Watson actually smiles a little, shaking his head. "You are truly hopeless."

Then as Holmes looks back at him with an attempted small smile, and then looks back down, Watson thinks he can see something hidden behind his expression and his complete silence that follows, something uncharacteristically wounded.

He sits forward on the edge of his chair, not quite meeting eyes with him as he speaks somewhat awkwardly. "Well, it's...definitely not _satisfying_ to be proven right in this kind of case, or...Well, that is to say I..." He clears his throat, shuffling his position uncomfortably. "I'm...sorry. Holmes."

Holmes stays with his eyes down on the carpet, almost looking like he heard none of the words as he just thinks a moment longer. Then he suddenly just takes in a quick breath and says, "No matter," getting up from the chair in a fast movement and forcefully brightening a little as he turns to him with a new thought. "What was that you said before about your button? She took it?"

Taking a moment to catch up to the random inquiry, Watson answers, "Yes, she sewed it into the dress in place of the diamond to trick me. No wonder the thread wasn't quite the right color," he adds dryly, looking over at the spool of black thread still on the floor that Holmes was using.

"You have it then?"

"It's here..." He takes it out of his pocket and Holmes immediately goes over and snatches it.

"Ah, excellent!" Holmes tosses it up in the air and then catches it once. Then, giving Watson a hard pat on his shoulder, he says, "There we are. Now all is not lost, my good man."

As he walks away, Watson just watches him a while with an eyebrow raising in some bewilderment. Then he sinks back into his chair, resting his head back, and echoes in a bitter mutter to himself, "No matter."

—————

A long time later, Watson one day passes the table where the portrait of Irene is displayed after going to look out the window, and he stops when he notices it has been knocked over backwards, the picture staring straight up at him.

It was days after she disappeared last time that Watson once tried insisting, "Isn't it time we finally threw this away?" as he took the photograph dangerously close to the fireplace. But Holmes became very obstinate at once, telling him, "Don't you dare even think of it, Watson." For a brief few seconds they actually became engaged in literally fighting over the picture before Holmes got him to let go by distractingly flicking his fingers at one of his ears in his familiar fashion of disorienting an opponent. Clutching his ear in pain, Watson then responded by giving him a hard back-handed slap across the face before he walked away from the fire in resignation.

Now he picks up the frame and looks at it closely, wiping his sleeve across the picture to brush the small layer of dust away from it. And then he puts it back down, setting it upright again, and walks away with the faintest crooked smirk on his face.

In the world there are all kinds of women, none of which ever had much of an effect on both him and Holmes, if either of them at all, which always suited him just fine.

And then there is Irene Adler, the rare specimen who somehow stands apart, who was able to make a fool of Holmes twice and once made fools of both of them. No matter how much he would like to say she was Holmes's mistake and only his problem, there is an undeniable truth in what she did. As long as he is insane and foolish enough to be his colleague and his friend, in the end, the two of them will share everything.

He thinks briefly of the note she left for him after fooling him, and for the first time ever right now, he wonders a little if Holmes's greatest mistake had been not realizing that in getting close to her he was not making it too easy and less of a challenge for her to betray him, but rather quite the opposite. Whatever little difference it makes.

And he can admit to himself that there was a certain point after which he did not want to be right about her. But because of that as much for any other reasons, he knows it can only be a good thing that she is now out of their lives again.

For now.


End file.
